


learning to fly

by Mija



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Star Trek: Generations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mija/pseuds/Mija
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that even a three-legged dog can learn how to walk again. Spock and McCoy just have to find out how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	learning to fly

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [学会飞翔](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310147) by [walkingegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingegg/pseuds/walkingegg)



> See [ here ](https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/573c9a2b0003e9431c12c0d9/1/fliegen-lernen) for the original German version.

It was Spock who came to see him, not the other way around.

They had barely talked to each other after they had received the news. Not before the memorial service, not during the service, and especially not afterwards. When should they have found time to exchange their thoughts when they had been surrounded by half of the Fleet and when the whole bunch of smug idiots had forced them into a conversation to tell them that they were so _very_ sorry about the death of a man most of them had hardly known? And above all – what should they have talked about? About the feeling of emptiness, the feeling of having lost their right arm? About the refusal to believe that the blasted accident on the _Enterprise-B_ had indeed happened? About the sleepless nights, about the useless tears?

None of that would bring back Jim.

McCoy wanted to talk to Spock, he really did. He feared that the little balance fate had left him would shatter if he didn’t; but still he couldn’t seem to manage. The doctor inside his head whispered something about repression and mental wounds, the friend was worried about Spock and Bones ... well, _Bones_ curled up in a corner and ignored the world and waited for Jim to turn up in front of him, shake him out of his stupor with his usual overconfident grin and drag him right into the next adventure. One that’d have a better outcome.

Two weeks had passed since a weeping Scotty had collapsed on his threshold, giving McCoy the shock of his life, and he’d barely exchanged more than a few words with Spock ever since. The first three of them had become irreversibly etched in his mind. _Jim is dead_. Without a warning, without a preamble. Spock had already known, anyway. Just as McCoy knew now that it was _Spock_ standing in front of his door when the penetrating buzz cut through the silence. He couldn’t explain it, he just knew. Jim and Spock had had this special connection, yes, but McCoy and Spock’s fates were intertwined more than he was comfortable with, too, especially after the whole _katra_ business. Some experiences leave their marks, and carrying a person’s soul is definitely one of them.

The tie that had been formed between them had been gradually fading ever since, but it was still strong enough to let him be aware of Spock’s presence whenever Spock was near to him.

“Come.”

He barely managed to utter the one word, and he barely recognised his own voice. Was that really him – sounding so hopeless, so broken?

By God, he felt so old.

Spock’s footsteps were uncharacteristically hesitant when he entered the room, McCoy could hear that much. He didn’t bother to turn his head; instead he remained in the position he had barely changed for days: lying flat on his back on the bed, arms wrapped around his chest, dully staring at the ceiling.

The hesitant steps stopped in an appropriate distance. “Am I disturbing you, doctor?”

He’d used to react with a snarky comment or at least some teasing to this kind of question, but those days were long gone, swallowed by the merciless flow of the universe; and he just couldn’t muster the energy.

“No, Spock ... Take a seat.” He waved a vague hand in the direction of the table, and he wasn’t surprised when Spock didn’t follow his invitation. Sighing, McCoy turned his head; and what he saw was enough to make him forget the pain caused by the unusual movement.

Spock was standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, regarding him solemnly and with a completely blank expression – a sight that was so familiar that McCoy felt his throat tighten. If he had ignored the lines on Spock’s face, the first strands of grey hair and the wrong-coloured uniform ... then he could easily have believed that he was on the _Enterprise_ again, back then when everything had started during the five-year-mission, back then when ... when there had been three of them, not only two.

His vision became blurred for a short, telltale moment, and McCoy resolutely wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Not here, not now. Now when he was finally facing the man who knew exactly how he felt – the man who understood the loss better than anybody else.

Logic, total control of emotions ... nothing but a lie. Spock was grieving and this time McCoy didn’t even waste a thought on the idea of teasing him because of the all to obvious display of emotion. They had left the good old times behind, they had lost their past long ago. It was just another proof of how easily the things you hold dear can vanish.

Slowly, McCoy pushed himself upright, ignoring his protesting muscles. Spock hadn’t moved; he was just standing there, a small figure within an ocean of sorrow.

“Spock.”

The Vulcan opened his mouth, but before he could proceed, McCoy interrupted him. “You’re makin‘ me nervous.” He gave the mattress an inviting pat. “Sit down.”

Spock raised his eyebrow ever so slightly, but that was more than McCoy had hoped for. “It would be inappropriate to ...”

“Dammit, Spock, after all this time?” His voice was devoid of accusation and the sarcasm he had loved to use when trying to push Spock into showing his human side. There was just resignation in it, combined with bone-deep tiredness. “ _Siddown_ , for heaven’s sake.”

Not too long ago, he would perhaps have added something like “you green-blooded hobgoblin” or another of his insults for Spock that were never meant as insulting as they might have seemed for strangers. Those times, however ... were long lost.

Spock’s eyebrow raised a little more and the familiar expression made McCoy relax. He stiffened again when Spock crossed the space between then with long, determined strides and settled on the mattress next to him, leaving just enough distance between them to maintain the notion of formality. Under normal circumstances, sharing a seat with a Vulcan was considered to be all but a cultural faux pas – but there again, what had ever been _normal_ about their relationship? Anyway, it didn’t make a difference, not anymore.

“Doctor, I ...,” Spock began and McCoy spoke up at the same time, “Spock, listen ...”, and the words mixed up hopelessly and died in an embarrassing silence. McCoy suppressed a sigh and tried for a second time. “I wanted to check on you, right after the memorial service ... but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Call it illogical, but ... I couldn’t.”

Spock didn’t look at him as he replied, “No, doctor, your behaviour cannot be called illogical. I, too, experienced difficulties in approaching the individuals who, as I knew, could understand my emotional condition.”

_Emotional condition_. How desperate did a Vulcan have to be to use the word “emotional” in context with his state of health? McCoy didn’t want to think about it and he especially didn’t want to think about his _own_ emotional condition. What he wanted to do was talk to Spock, maybe exchange memories or, if it was still too early for that, just sit with him in silence.

“Well, you did better ‘n me. You came here,” he said gloomily, because yes, it did hurt that Spock, the ever-distant Spock of all people, had made the first move in a game that _McCoy_ should have begun.

“I thought it necessary to assure myself of your well-being.”

This time, he didn’t manage to suppress his sigh. “I won’t say I’m _fine_ , but it’ll be okay. It’s always okay, eventually. How ‘bout you? I don’t really how Vulcans cope with grief ...”

Amanda would have known it, but Amanda had passed away a few months ago, and McCoy doubted that Spock would speak about his feelings to any other person. To whom should he go, anyway – Ambassador Sarek? Saavik? The members of their former crew, now scattered across half the galaxy? Please. He should have known that Spock would come to him sooner or later. And – didn’t he hope he would?

Spock still wasn’t looking at him and that was okay. “During the last few days, I spent a considerable amount of time mediating and I am quite convinced that I will have recaptured my mental balance very soon.”

_Mental balance?_ It was getting better and better.

“That’s bullshit, Spock, and you know that. It doesn’t happen that quickly, even with your Vulcan physique. Give yourself time. We’re _all_ gonna need time.”

“Doctor ...”

“Leonard,” he corrected. He had been trying to get Spock to use his first name for years and he’d had so little success that he’d been close to giving up. But not today – today he wanted to be Leonard, today he _needed_ to be Leonard.

“Leonard.” Spock hesitated before saying it, as if he wasn’t sure of what to expect afterwards. McCoy didn’t know himself. What was there to expect for _all_ of them?

He for sure hadn’t expected what was to come next.

“Would you allow me to join your mind?”

McCoy stared at him in confusion and for the first time since he had entered the room, Spock met his gaze. The dark eyes were wide open and so vulnerable behind the carefully maintained control that he refrained from returning a cynical comment and only reacted with a tense “Why?”

Spock bowed his head and, for the most fleeting of moments, McCoy felt like he had used to back then on the _Enterprise_ , when the First Officer had tried to explain complicated scientific phenomena in a way the cranky CMO would understand. It had worked now and them, enabling them to cease from their bickering long enough to work together as a team ... Only that back then, there’d been a Jim to help them come to their senses every time it _hadn’t_ worked.

“It might ... prove useful.”

There were no explanations this time, just an unusual hesitation. But there again, what was normal about their current situation?

McCoy decided that he didn’t want to know it, after all. If Spock asked him for such a thing, he must have had a sound reason for it, otherwise he would never suggest it. He knew only too well about McCoy’s dislike of “Vulcan mind-voodoo”, as he tended to call it, especially after the nasty incident that had taken place in the brutal mirror universe’s sickbay. Even carrying Spock’s soul hadn’t changed that deeply rooted distrust against everything that had to do with meddling with his mind.

The decision was up to him – other than his ruthless counterpart, Spock would never violate his will unless there was a pressing reason for it – and he went for the most logical _(and here we go again, isn’t that glorious)_ option: He trusted Spock, he had no other choice. If he couldn’t trust Spock, he couldn’t trust anybody.

“Alright, go on.”

Spock raised his eyebrow again and the familiar sight was enough to dispel his anxiety. Spock extended his hand, his fingers found McCoy’s _katra_ points with practised ease and McCoy automatically opened up his mind for him. After all they had been through together, there was nothing he had to hide; on the contrary, the mental contact he had used to hate was strangely soothing.

During the meld, they managed to express that for which there were no words. _Understanding ... comfort ... the knowledge that they’re not alone, that there’s someone to share their burden_ ... It hurt, but it was also liberating. McCoy knew Spock’s mind as well as he knew his own – at the beginning of their first mission, he would have laughed at anyone who told him that he’d once be that close to this most infuriating of Vulcans – and he felt some of the tension that had been crushing him for two weeks melt.

Spock had been right: It did help. And it reminded McCoy of the one truth he hadn’t been able to see during the last days, the truth he hadn’t wanted to see: He was not alone. They had lost a person close to both of them, maybe even the centre of their universe and most certainly the man who had made them the persons they were now. But they were not alone and they should be grateful for that, as long as they still could.

A family can never be whole again after one of its members was ripped from its middle, but even a three-legged dog can learn how to walk again, somehow. They just had to find out how.

McCoy lost himself in the silent support Spock gave him, and he’d lost every sense of time when Spock finally ended the meld. They spent a few more minutes sitting next to each other in comfortable silence – two persons who knew with unwavering certainty that there was a bond between them, a bond that had grown stronger due to the loss of a third person, regardless of whether they wanted it or not.

Eventually, he searched for something to say, anything that would restore the fragile safety; but as it turned out, he didn’t have to. Spock spoke before he could and something about what he said re-established the word’s balance, at least a little bit.

“I miss Jim,” he said. It was a simple phrase, not the kind of elaborate Vulcan tongue twister he used far too often, even after all this time; and the plain, _human_ statement made McCoy tear up. He had been crying too much during the last two weeks and he should be tired of it; but, strangely, it didn’t hurt this time.

“I know, Spock,” he whispered. “Me too.”


End file.
